


Obi-Wan Washington

by Firelight_and_Rain



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Fic Without Porn or Plot, Fluff, Gen, attempted humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 05:51:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6788293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firelight_and_Rain/pseuds/Firelight_and_Rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wash isn't going to admit that training the sim soldiers, or one in particular, however intractable, is more fun than the hell-matches that the Freelancers had to do - but it really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obi-Wan Washington

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm not funny and I'm sorry.

Crash Site Bravo was a beautiful, humid, uncomfortable, and highly dangerous place. The danger was the presence and authority of one highly paranoid Ex-Freelancer, who Lavernius Tucker was currently avoiding.

It probably wouldn’t work. Washington seemed to have adapted to be even more hazardous to Tucker’s health now that he seemed to feel responsibility for Tucker’s safety than he’d been when he was apt to actually kill Tucker and his friends.

Except now it was lunch, and Tucker hadn’t brought any food with him because that would have been suspicious, and he couldn’t go beg from the Reds because Sarge would kick up a fuss and that would certainly get Agent Asshat’s attention, so Tucker made the brave call to return to base, face his fear and continue surviving.

Returning to base consisted only of ceasing hiding in the crashed ship (thank space marine god that Caboose really sucked at playing hide and seek in a new canyon, so Wash, who coddled friggin’ Caboose, couldn’t say he didn’t have an alibi) and making the short walk back, trying to look purposeful and not at all deserving of more training from hell. 

Finding no one else at base, Lavernius assumed for a moment that he had been spared by fate. Unfortunately, Washington, who had been fiddling with the radio for the umpteenth time, caught sight of him and made his way to Blue Base before Tucker had a chance to finish his lunch. “Hey,” Tucker said, warily.

“Hello, Lieutenant Tucker,” Wash said in a tone that did not bode well, though if he had one that did Tucker had yet to hear it. “I’m happy to see you - for once - up and dressed, but where exactly have you been for the last seven hours?”

“Se - seven?” Tucker yelped. “I haven’t even been awake for seven hours.”

“Exactly,” Wash said sagely.

“Well, there you go,” Tucker said. “I was asleep. Did you check when I was sleeping?”

“Uh, no,” Wash said. “When I agreed to lead this team, no one ever mentioned your sleeping habits.”

Tucker tactfully didn’t mention that Church had never been subjected to him sleeping in the nude because Blood Gulch wasn’t a balmy tropical jungle. And Church honestly hadn’t been as fun to rile up. And Church had still called the Reds an actual threat. Yeah, those days were over.

“I’m surprised. It’s a real show.”

Agent Washington breathed out, very slowly, like he was physically restraining himself from punching him. “Anyway, now that you’re awake, we should do something productive with the day.”

Wash’s idea of “productive” would get him hired on by fuckin’ Satan in a heartbeat, Tucker was certain.

“Why?” Tucker challenged.

“Because I’m your commanding officer and I get to shoot you if you don’t.”

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t make this harder on yourself, Tucker.” Wash stood there and managed to look very menacing, either despite or because of the fact that he was wearing full body armor and, as such, had no visible facial expression.

Tucker deflated. “Alright, alright, oh all powerful leader. What,” he gritted out, “exactly did you have in mind?”

“Sparring.”

“Spar - why the fuck would we need to spar?”

“Because if you can beat me,” Wash said patiently, “you stand a good chance against anyone else who tries to kill you.”

“Is my badass alien sword not badass enough?”

“Not in the hands of an incompetent soldier, no.”

Tucker sighed, grabbed his sword, and swished it on with a flourish. “Alright then. Let’s hit the mat.”

Wash backed up a step and looked between Tucker and his sword. “Do you actually want to kill me?” he demanded, his voice edging towards squeaky in that awesomely entertaining way it did.

“I plead the fifth.”  
“Uh, no. We are not sparring with live weapons, we are going to go find things that work instead.”

“Man, you just keep finding ways to make this suck worse.”

Wash ignored him.

*

“You know,” Tucker said, “I’m pretty sure that someone once told me that I wasn’t supposed to let someone hit me with lead pipe.”

“I’m surprised that anyone you know is capable of such good advice. We’re both wearing armor. It’s fine.”

Tucker wasn’t sure that it was fine. The length of pipe he was holding was completely the wrong shape, and anyway he wasn’t ‘destined to wield it’ or some shit, and while he really doubted that Wash was trained in being a fucking ninja with tiny pieces of pipe, the Agent was standing in a ready stance like it was a mastered technique of his or something. Tucker wasn’t the most cowardly of the Blood Gulch, not by a long shot, but Freelancers were fucking terrifying.

“Aaaaand - race!” Caboose announced loudly from where he was sitting cross-legged some paces away.

Well, that wasn’t exactly right, but Tucker thought that it might trip Wash up …

The moment Tucker began to lunge forward, Wash moved to the left and -

“Ow! Tucker! I think you are dead!”

Tucker looked down at the bit of pipe that had bounced off his neck and fallen on the ground. Tucker sighed heavily. This was going to be a long day. 

When he looked up, Wash ‘made eye contact’ and gave a shrug that managed to be dorky and smug at the same time.

Yeah. Very long day.

*

“Wash,” Tucker said. “Look at this shit.”

He shoved his bruised forearm under the Agent’s nose. Wash turned blearily towards him. Tucker had only succeeded in catching him before he’d encased himself in his armor by the expedient of waking up way earlier than usual and ignoring the bit of tarp that Wash had hung up to designate “his” “room”. Tucker figured it made sense that Wash wanted to hide all the time. Sure, the guy was fit, but he was also one giant freckle with perpetual helmet hair.

(Hey, it was OK to assess the attractiveness factor of your teammates, according to Tucker. Know the competition and all that).

“Yes.”

“Look at these bruises! These are as bad as when Carolina rejected me!”

“Not that bad,” Wash said slyly. “I didn’t kick you in the balls.”

“Yes. Thanks for that.”

*

And Tucker only started to enjoy his regular sparring matches with Wash (the Agent was fucking persistent) after he met Santa and, because it was his destiny to be the most badass between two species, got some (more) major skills.

(And that wasn’t even mentioning the super-armor he’d get, eventually. The universe just couldn’t get enough of him. Bow chika wow wow).

*

“Hey, Wash?” Tucker said, sometime in the future. “Does this make you my Obi-Wan?”

“What? No.”

“That’s cool. I’m cooler than a Jedi.”

Wash just shrugged like there was no arguing with that.


End file.
